


The Changes The Distance Brought

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, John Goes to Afghanistan, Lonely Sherlock, M/M, Romantic Sherlock, Silly Sherlock, Skyping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John's called back to Afghanistan, he's faced with old demons and new challenges while Sherlock has to learn to live with John at a distance. When they're reunited, they each have to negotiate the changes in the other and in themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. April

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John was holding the letter and pacing back and forth in the sitting room, waiting for Sherlock to come home. He'd left for a case this morning and hadn't returned yet. John was holding big news, half exciting and half terrifying. He had no idea how Sherlock was going to take it, but he wouldn't know until Sherlock finally got home. Several times he thought about texting, but if Sherlock was hiding somewhere or spying, he didn't want to risk it. He sighed and continued pacing.

Sherlock stomped up the stairs, stomped into the flat and slammed the door. "Stop going to the surgery everyday," Sherlock said. He slipped off his coat and then flopped onto the sofa. "It's ridiculous," he muttered, steepling his hands and doing his pout face.

John was so thrown that for a moment he forgot his news. "What happened?"

"You," Sherlock said. "You're supposed to be my colleague and yet you insist on going to the ridiculous surgery instead." He waved his hand dismissively to illustrate just how ridiculous he felt it was.

John deflated a bit when he realised it was something so silly. "Sherlock, listen," he said. "I need to talk to you about something important.”  
  
"Yes, John," Sherlock said, sitting it up. "Well, I needed to talk to you -- or rather needed you to talk _for_ me so my theory would be taken seriously, but you were nowhere to be found." He stood up. "And there's no tea," he added, throwing his hands in the air and moving to the kitchen.

"Will you sit down please? This is serious," John said, standing to keep Sherlock in his sight.

"Fine," Sherlock humphed. "Mine's serious, too," he added under his breath. He sat down in his chair. "What?"

"Tea is not serious, Sherlock." John moved to sit down across from him, moving the letter between his fingers nervously. "I'm going to Afghanistan again," he said quietly. 

"Shut up, John," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, I'm serious. They want me to go train the new doctors, army doctors like me," he said.

"John," Sherlock said. "I said shut up." He stood up and started to walk towards his bedroom.

"They want me for a whole year," John said, standing up and holding the letter out. "I leave this weekend."

"No, John," Sherlock called, a little more loudly than he'd actually intended to. "No, that won't do." He stopped walking but didn't turn around.

John dropped his hand with the letter, looking down at it again. "I can't not go," he said. There was a part of him that did actually want to go, but he didn't dare say that out loud. 

"Well, what did you even move in here for, then? If you were just going to leave, what was the point of moving in?" Sherlock said, turning round and glaring at John.

"I didn't ask to go!" John said, looking up at him again. "When you sign up, it's for life. I won't be in battle. I just have to train the new medics," he said. Of course, he was also a bit nervous about going back, but he didn't feel he could say that either.

Sherlock eyed John closely. "You knew about this before today," Sherlock said. "You knew about it and you hid it from me."

"I only just found the letter," John said. They had emailed John for confirmation that he'd received the letter when they hadn't heard back from him, and John had found the letter knifed to the mantle with Sherlock's ignored post. There were now three things John thought he'd better not mention.  

"Well, fine," Sherlock said. "But you should know, if you leave, I will never forgive you." He turned and went into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

John sighed heavily and followed, talking through the door. "That's not fair, Sherlock. I didn't ask to go. I am nervous and a little bit scared and I really don't need the guilt." He knew that might be extreme, but Sherlock was acting like a baby and John needed him. "I'm going to start packing. If you want to spend one of our last days together hidden in your room, fine. If not, you're welcome to come up."

John turned away and headed up to his room, pulling out his old army bag and the chest he kept his army clothes in. At the very top were his tags and he set them gingerly on his pillow before sorting through the clothes in the trunk.

Sherlock came out of his room and walked up to John's. "You're not fair," he pouted, sitting down on John's bed. He looked over at the tags and then looked away. 

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know it's unfair and it is awful and short notice." John folded clothes carefully and laid them in the bag.

"I just don't understand why you want to leave so bad," Sherlock said. "Don't you like living here?"

"I don't _want_ to leave, I have to. I'm not allowed to ignore it." John looked up at him. "I really like being here, Sherlock."

"Just . . . don't go, okay? Maybe Mycroft could do something . . ." Sherlock said. He hated involving his brother, but he would if he had to.

John paused. Mycroft probably could do something, but a small part of him still wanted to go because he had made a commitment. "Maybe, but they need the best training. Don't you think I'm the best?" he teased, smiling softly.

"You're the best _colleague_ ," Sherlock said. "How am I supposed to know if you're the best trainer?" He fiddled with the edge of the pillowcase.

"We'll still talk, Sherlock. We can Skype," John said. "They have surprisingly good internet for a desert." He was hoping jokes would help them get through this.

"That won't help if I need a cup of tea," Sherlock said, leaning over to pull some of my John's clothes out of his bag and throw them on the floor.

John clenched his jaw and bent to pick them up. "God, however will you survive?" he muttered, folding them again.

"Quite frankly, I don't know, John," Sherlock said. "You move in here and get me used to things and now you're changing them. I might be dead within a week. And it'll be your fault. Just so you know."

"Well, me too," John said, knowing it wasn't likely. He refused to be guilt tripped for something he couldn't control.

"Cruel," Sherlock said. "Don't play dirty." He watched John for a few moments. "Look, a month, okay? Just go for a month. That's a compromise -- you taught me to compromise. See? I'm doing it. Compromise. Please."

"I can't come home until they send me home," John explained. "I don't leave until this weekend. We can still spend time together."  
  
Sherlock watched John again, not saying anything. His brain was working as fast it could, but it couldn't come up with any other ways of stopping John from leaving. So finally he said quietly, "What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

"Work on your cases and experiments. Revel in the no nagging that will be happening," John smiled softly. "Skype with me."

"I don't like any of those ideas," Sherlock said. "Except for the cases and experiments and the no nagging, I guess."

"Not Skyping with me?" John asked, fitting the last of them into the bag and zipping it closed.

"All right, I will," Sherlock said, throwing his arms up dramatically. "Stop nagging me."

John smiled softly. "You know I can't. Let's go out to dinner, okay?"

"I guess," Sherlock said. He stood up. "I need to go to my room for a little while, okay?"

John nodded. "Okay," he said.

Sherlock went down to his room and sat on the bed. He didn't like this idea. Not at all. He didn't understand why John wanted to do this to him. Sherlock didn't like change and John's moving in was a big change but Sherlock had adapted. Now John wanted another change? Why? Sherlock would have to get used to a new change and then John would return and there'd be another change. Unless John didn't come back. What if John liked doing this training more than he liked living with Sherlock and he never returned? Sherlock took out his phone.

_Come back, okay? SH_

John looked at his phone and then read the message. He sighed and sank onto the bed.

_Of course I will come back. I promise. -JW_

He knew it was risky to promise -- he felt like he barely made it home alive last time -- but he was fully expecting a return. He was only going to train and then he'd be back.

Sherlock stared at the message. Then he slid off the bed and went to the kitchen to make himself more tea.

John heard Sherlock moving around downstairs and he joined him, leaning against the door. "Maybe it'll fly right by," he said. He had to remember to call Greg and have him offer cases, no matter how small, so Sherlock could stay busy.

"A year doesn't fly by, John, and you know it," Sherlock said. "Just . . . stop treating me like a baby. I'll be fine." He knew he was acting like a baby who was worried he wouldn't be fine, but Sherlock had always preferred to ignore the obvious when it came to his childish behaviour.

"I know you'll be fine," John said, one of the biggest lies he had ever told. Despite his pouting, Sherlock came out to dinner with John, who had a big decision to make seeing as he was going to be gone for a whole year. What food would he miss the most? In the end he picked Angelo's, not only because the food was good but because it was normal for them and he wanted things to be normal as long as possible for Sherlock.

The next morning he went to see Mrs Hudson to tell her the news and to make sure she would watch over Sherlock for him. At first she was almost as angry as Sherlock, but then she promised to keep an eye on the detective and she wished John luck with a great big hug. When he got upstairs, he disappeared into his room to call Lestrade, who wasn't as surprised because he knew someone else going back for training as well. He promised to include Sherlock in even the smallest cases and John thanked him. Sherlock's mood would be awful, and he really owed Greg for helping.

That night, John went to the sitting room and found Sherlock, sitting on the sofa beside him. "Will you come to the airport with me?" he asked.

Sherlock had been memorising everything that had been taking place in the last day. He needed to be able to have images, movements, words to replay in his mind while John was gone. He knew he'd need to be able to call up the relative normalcy that he'd grown accustomed to but had begun to take for granted. He watched John come into the room and sit down by him. He listened to John's voice. He thought about what his answer should be. "I don't know if I can, John," he finally said.

John tried to hide his disappointment. "Okay. Well, just let me know, yeah? I have to leave in the morning, around eight." He hesitated for a moment, then stood and went to the kitchen to start the kettle. He stayed there while he waited for the awkwardness to disperse.

"John, I just . . ." Sherlock said, without turning his head to watch John move into the other room. "I just wanted to say…I'd rather you not go."

John felt a tightness in his chest. "I know, Sherlock. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Sherlock said softly. "I just wanted to say it."

"Doesn't change the fact that I am sorry." After a minute he came out with two mugs and have one to Sherlock, sitting beside him again.

"It'll be strange . . . without you," Sherlock said. "I'm . . . used to you now." He held the mug up to his face.

John nodded. "But imagine all the heads you can keep in the fridge," he said, trying to lighten things up a bit.

"True, but what's the point if you're not here to be upset by them?" Sherlock said. He tried to smile a little.

"I knew it," John teased. "Science, my arse!"

Sherlock tried to laugh. "That fridge'll be full of healthy food until the day before you return," he said.

"So it's all a show! I knew it!" John smiled.

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I don't know if I can go to the airport, John," he said. "I'm sorry."

John's smile fell a bit and he looked into his cup, nodding. "That's okay. I understand," he said quietly.

"Well, let's not just sit here like a couple of idiots," Sherlock said, shifting a little. "Should we put on the telly or do you want to read or what?" 

"We can put the telly on," John nodded. He got up to freshen his tea, taking his time before coming back to the sofa. "Anything good?"

"No," Sherlock said, continuing to flick through the channels. "You decide," he said, handing the remote to John. "I guess you probably won't be able to watch much telly while you're gone."

"A bit. If I'm only training I should have more free time than the last time I was there." He flipped through the channels lazily and settled on the news for a while.

"Do you know the people you'll be with? Are they friends of yours?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"There might be some I know," John said. "I'll find out when I actually get there. But most of the ones I knew the last time -- well, the close ones -- didn't make it home."

Sherlock swallowed a little. "Please be careful," he said quietly. "I know you will . . . just. . . be careful."

"I will, Sherlock," John said softly, caught unawares by his sudden sullen tone. He wasn't used to it. "I'll be home before you know it."

Sherlock didn't reply to that because he knew it wasn't true. He sat there quietly but that didn't feel right either. Something on the television caught his eye, and he started talking about a time that he'd visited the place that was on the screen. It was stupid, meaningless, but it was something to say. 

John listened to Sherlock rambling and wished he could comfort him somehow. After everything that had happened during his first tour, he had never expected to have to go back. It was odd, and the closer it got, the more he realised he didn't like it any more that Sherlock did. He'd grown very used to the man, and he was really going to miss him. "When I come back we'll take a proper holiday," John said. Was it normal to ask a friend to go on holiday together? He didn't care. It would be nice. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll find us a good place." He swallowed and went silent again. Eventually he said, "I might go to bed. I know you've got to leave early, and I want to be up when you go."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I'll head up as well," John said, turning off the telly and taking his mug into the kitchen. 

Sherlock fiddled with his phone. "I've set my alarm," he said as he stood up. "Don't go without my knowing, all right?" He moved towards his room.

John shook his head. "I won't. I'll make sure I see you, okay?"

"All right," Sherlock said, glancing over. "I'll see you in the morning." He went into his bedroom and got ready for bed. He crawled in and tried not to think about how everything was going to change.

John agreed before going up to his own room. He got ready for bed, double checked his bag, and then lay down to sleep. It took him a long time. He kept playing different scenarios in his head, anything from them only needing him for a couple days to them making him go onto the frontlines. Eventually he fell asleep, and that's when things got worse in John's brain. He was running alone towards a faceless enemy, shouting and trying to get his rifle up fast enough. There was an eruption of explosions and gun shots and when he turned around, everyone was dead. He woke up with a start, and his hands were shaking slightly. He couldn't stop seeing everyone dead. He got up and padded to the kitchen for some water. 

Sherlock had fallen asleep but then heard noise in the kitchen. He was confused for a moment, and then worried he'd slept through his alarm. He looked at the clock and saw that it was still the middle of the night. He didn't know what was going on. He got up and went out. "John," he said softly. "You okay?"

John wiped his face quickly before Sherlock saw the cool sweat. "Yeah," he nodded, draining his glass and filling it again. "I didn't mean to wake you." 

"Are you leaving early? It's still the middle of the night."

"No, I'm not leaving early," John said. He was still in his pajamas for crying out loud. "I just . . . couldn't sleep," he said. Not exactly a lie. 

Suddenly Sherlock remembered the first time he caught John up in the middle of the night. He used to have nightmares quite frequently when he first moved in. But it had been months since the last one . . . oh God, Sherlock was so stupid sometimes. He was so obsessed with his own feelings, he hadn't even thought of John's. He reached over and put the kettle on. "Go sit down on the sofa," he said softly. "I'll bring some tea over."

John looked over and opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn't actually do it. "Okay," he said instead, moving around Sherlock and pulling his feet up on the sofa. 

Sherlock brought the tea over and handed a mug to John. He sat down next to him. They just sat quietly together. After a little bit, he said, "Feeling calmer?"

John nodded, looking into his half empty cup. "It's silly. I'm just going to train but . . . I don't know," he murmured. 

"It's not silly," Sherlock whispered. "You'll be okay. And then you'll be home again."

John nodded. "I know," he said. "Thank you, Sherlock." He fiddled with his mug still. 

Sherlock looked over and gave John a smile. He was really glad he'd met John. He wished he could stay here forever. They sat together for a while until he could see John's anxiety go away. "We've got a few more hours before we need to leave for the airport, want to go back to sleep?"

"We?" John asked, standing and yawning quietly.

"I forgot I needed to go to the airport for a completely different reason, so I figure I might as well just go along with you," Sherlock said. He stood up and touched John's arm lightly and then moved back to his room.

John smiled softly and went up to his room again. This time he thought about Sherlock planning a trip for them. He slept a lot more easily, but he was exhausted when the alarm sounded. He dressed in his army trousers and a black t-shirt, put his tags on and inside his shirt, and then he headed to the kitchen. 

Sherlock woke to his alarm and immediately got up and took a shower. He was determined to act like this wasn't a big deal. He was just taking his colleague to the airport. Well, his colleague who was also his flatmate. And his friend. No -- stop, he told his brain. It wasn't a big deal. He smiled at John as he came out into the kitchen. "Morning," he said.

"M-m-morning," John yawned. He passed Sherlock a mug as he sipped at his own tea.

"Need help with anything?" Sherlock asked. 

John shook his head. "No, everything is ready. Thank you."

"Then shall we go?" Sherlock said.

John glanced up and nodded. "Yeah. Let me get my bag," he said, moving around him to get it from the sitting room. He looked around -- it was going to be a whole year. He swallowed hard and headed out slowly.

Sherlock got them a taxi. He didn't know what to say or if he should talk at all. So for a while, he just said nothing.

"Thank you for coming with me," John said, looking out of his window.

"Thank you for . . . putting up with me," Sherlock said. "I hope you aren't expecting me to mature at all while you're gone because I have absolutely no plans to do so."

John smiled and looked over at him. "I'd be disappointed if you did," he said.

Sherlock looked over and smiled back. When the taxi pulled up, Sherlock got out quickly, running around to open the door for John. "I think I'll stop here," he said. "I can't go far in anyway so . . ." He smiled weakly and held out his hand to shake John's.

John bypassed his hand and hugged him quickly. "I'll see you soon, okay? I'll Skype you when I get there."

Sherlock squeezed his arms around John. "Soon," he said. He pulled back and quickly got into the taxi, motioning for the driver to go.


	2. August

What a disaster! John had shown these boys how to patch someone up in the middle of a battle, sew stitches while lying on the ground in dust, and even how to keep steady hands while starting IVs and running beside a stretcher. Sometimes you were lucky enough to be that close to camp. Other times you weren't. Today they had been going over how to do ordinary things -- take blood pressure, draw blood, check oxygen levels and heart rates -- and it was as if he was asking them to do rocket science! They all partnered up, but there was an uneven number so John offered his arm to one of the students who wielded a needle like it was a sword. In the end he didn't get any blood, John's arm turned into a sore, bruised mess, and that boy was still running laps. 

Things had been going very well. John had come nowhere near any actual battle, and there was no inclination that he would have to. He talked to Sherlock quite a bit, usually once a week, sometimes more time would pass between, but he seemed to be doing okay. In the background John always saw something smoking or bubbling or being dissected. Sometimes he would catch Mrs Hudson there bringing tea or food while Sherlock shouted at her.

In all honesty John had expected not to hear from Sherlock at all while he was gone. It was easy for the detective to get caught up in work and forgetful, but Sherlock was even more persistent about calling than John was. He had to admit that he liked it, only because Sherlock didn't really care for anyone else like that. 

And speaking of the devil, John was in the middle of changing his shirt when he heard the ringing of a call coming in on Skype. He sat down without a shirt on, answering the call and grinning happily. 

"Are you trying to impress me with your tanned, manly chest, John Watson?" Sherlock asked, when John's picture came up on the screen. Just seeing John made Sherlock feel better. When John left, Sherlock hadn't thought the Skyping would work to keep them connected. It wasn't the same, of course, but it did make a difference. It made it easier -- Sherlock could pretend he wasn't so far away. John talked about what he'd been doing, but in truth, Sherlock kind of ignored a lot of the details. He didn't want to worry, he didn't want to think of John doing things that had nothing to do with him, things Sherlock couldn't understand. So he zoned out a little during those details, and waited until he could talk about their life here -- the more Sherlock talked about those things, the easier it was to pretend.

"No, you just caught me at a bad time," John smiled. "Not a bad time. I was just changing my shirt," John said. It was amazing how the sight of Sherlock changed his mood so much. He could picture Sherlock in his head, of course, but seeing him live, in real life like this, it was just so much better. He couldn't wait to see him in person again. It might be a bit embarrassing now that he thought about it. 

Sherlock looked John over. He was still the same John, just with darker skin and maybe a few more muscles. But then he saw something new. "Wait," Sherlock said. "What's happened to your arm, John? What's happened?" He could feel his own pulse speed up, and his stomach felt sick all of a sudden.

"What?" John asked before he saw Sherlock was panicking a bit. He looked at his own arm and put his hand over the bandage. "Sherlock, calm down, I'm fine," he said quickly. 

"John," Sherlock said, lowering his voice a little and leaning towards the screen. "They said no action, John. Let me call you know who so you can come home."

"No! Sherlock, it's not from any action. We were just taking blood drawing and the kid . . . well, he's not good at it. I'm fine," he said again.

Sherlock crinkled his eyes at the screen trying to decide whether or not to believe John. "I don't know," he said. "I don't like the idea of someone hurting you without me there . . . at least to supervise." He tried to make a little smile.

John grinned. "I'm sorry you missed it," he said. "What have you been up to?"

"A few small cases," Sherlock said. "Don't worry -- I was able to sort them on my own. To be fair, they were easy. I don't even know why Lestrade called me in, but I guess I was glad to have something to do." He glanced around the flat. "Would it be too odd if I said I still miss you? I know it's been a while but . . . I still wish you'd come back."

"I miss you too, Sherlock. But we're about half way already," John said. He made a mental note to thank Greg for bringing Sherlock along. "Be nice to Greg, okay? I'll be home soon."

"Yeah, you keep saying that but I still have to see you through a screen," Sherlock pouted. He wondered why he was reacting like this. He had adapted to the change on a practical level -- the first few weeks he had to admit he'd been a bit pathetic, but now he was working and doing experiments and things were kind of how they'd been before John had moved in. But he _felt_ different and hadn't really made sense of that yet. "I'm fine, it's fine. I just . . . what else has been going on?"

John sighed softly and nodded. "I know, Sherlock. But thinking about the halfway mark makes it easier, don't you think?" He shifted and moved the computer a little bit so he could sit more comfortably. "Unfortunately they are getting real life practice, because there is still fighting going on and we keep getting injured soldiers. I can't work on anyone with my own hands because of my tremor, so I've had to talk them through some things." John hated that -- hated how they looked at him.

Sherlock saw how these things weighed on John. He decided to try to change the subject. "I forgot to mention -- one of your girlfriends came by earlier this week," he said.

John immediately fell out of his thoughts. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know which one she was -- I didn't ask her name. She was pretty and a bit soft spoken but could still take a punch, so she kind of reminded me of you. I decided to ask her to stay. She's in your room now, we've been sleeping there each night. I hope that's not a problem for you, but if you are going to run off and leave me unattended . . ." Sherlock said even though he wasn't quite sure why he was doing so.

John was so confused until Sherlock continued his little story. "If you're trying to make me feel jealous, it's not working," he smiled. "If you want to replace me with a beautiful woman . . . well, that's a bit of a poor show, but your choice, of course. I hope she can write as well as I do." Deep down, John didn't really like this kind of teasing, but he wasn't going to show it.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you can also write," Sherlock said. "I've not seen her write -- I'll have to check if she can. Her tea's not as good as yours but at least she doesn't make me sleep alone like you did." Sherlock heard the words coming out of his mouth and tried to keep his face neutral despite the fact that this time he'd even shocked himself. What was he doing?

John assumed Sherlock was playing some sort of game -- he must be so bored that he was trying to mess with John. Well, John was not just going to lie down and take it. "Well, I was only a room away. You merely had to ask and we could have solved that problem quite easily." He held Sherlock's gaze and then played that idea in his head. What if Sherlock had really come to his room and asked to climb into his bed?

"I'll remember that when you return," Sherlock said. He looked at John's face through the screen. He made a little cough. "Mrs Hudson says hello," he stuttered out. "She misses you. She's bored of me, I think."

"She is not," John smiled softly. "But I miss her as well. And you."

"It's exciting there, though -- I suppose you have always liked a little danger," Sherlock said, suddenly feeling that messy experiments weren't quite as thrilling. What did Sherlock have to offer John that would make coming home equally exciting?

"Well, you give me plenty of that at home," John grinned. "I could do without the shooting."

"I suppose," Sherlock said. "It's not the same without you -- the danger, I mean. I never really realised how essential you are to the cases. My apologies for that, but I see it now." Sherlock heard the kettle click and stood up to make a cup of tea. He came back to the table with it.

"I didn't know I had to go half way around the world to get a compliment out of you," John teased.

"Well, there it is, so I hope you don't expect another one too soon," Sherlock said. "Um, were you going to offer me a compliment of some sort, maybe?" he added before taking a sip of tea.

John considered him for a long moment. "You've kept the flat very tidy," he said, grinning wide. He reached for a bottle of water and chugged half of it down. He could hear people outside, talking loudly and laughing. 

"You're horrible, John Watson," Sherlock said smiling. "And also wrong. What you see behind me is a screen I had painted. Behind it is the real flat and trust me, you don't want to see that." He laughed a little. 

John laughed. "All that effort! You could have just cleaned the flat," he said. He looked over Sherlock again. "Are you eating enough? Sleeping?" 

"How do you define 'enough'?" Sherlock asked. "I'm fine, John. Mrs Hudson brings food and of course your woman here keeps me exhausted so I'm sleeping fine." He raised his eyebrows up and down. "Your spies are working just fine."

"I don't have spies, Sherlock. And I don't have a woman either!" John leaned back and grinned. "You know you're the only one for me."

"Well, the feeling will be mutual once you return," Sherlock said. "Until then I'll keep what's-her-name around -- just to keep me occupied."

John rolled his eyes and decided to change the subject. "Have people still been emailing you without me there to write your cases up? Are you keeping good notes for me?" John turned his head to the sound of his name. "In a second!" he shouted.  
  
"Talkin' to the boyfriend, are you?" someone shouted back. More laughing.  
  
John rolled his eyes and gave them the two finger salute before turning back to Sherlock to wait for an answer. He didn't deny what they said, but they were joking after all.

"Not really," Sherlock said. "Most of the work has come from Lestrade and you know I'm not good at writing them." When he heard the man shout for John, he felt a pang of jealousy, but instead he just said, "Well, looks like you've got to go."

"In a bit," John said. He wasn't ready to go just yet. "Just take notes for me and I'll do the writing."

"I am, I am," Sherlock said. "Are you nagging?" He smiled. "But it won't be the same -- I just write the facts. I don't mention the stupid little stuff you notice."

"It's not stupid," John said. "It's the romantic details that draw in the readers and then the clients." John smiled but someone called out again and he sighed. "I really do have to go now."

"All right," Sherlock said. "We'll talk again next week, right? It helps me to know."  
  
John nodded. "Give or take a couple days, but it won't be longer than that. See you soon," he said. When Sherlock said good bye, John turned off the computer and sank back in his seat. He wondered if Sherlock had heard what the men were shouting. They had been saying things like that since they saw how serious John was about keeping up with the dates and times he promised to call. But Sherlock was different -- Sherlock needed the communication or he would get sad and when he got sad, he got confused and things would go horribly wrong. Before this trip John never would have believed it, but now he saw it plain as day when they talked. They weren't just flatmates, they were friends and it was no different than everyone else calling home regularly. Even though they were all calling family. John took a deep breath and thought about his own family whom he hardly spoke to. His family was Sherlock now. That's who he was the closest with. More laughter brought John out of his thoughts, and he hurried outside to make the rest of them run laps as well.

Sherlock logged off and stared at the laptop for a few moments. He really missed John. He knew how to seem normal so that Mrs Hudson and Lestrade and even John thought that Sherlock was doing fine. And he was -- he was working and living and everything was okay. But he just missed John so much. It felt like there was a hole in the heart he hadn't even been sure he had.


	3. December

This was the hardest time for John, and he hated having to be away for the holidays. The last time he had spoken with Sherlock, Mrs Hudson had popped in and assured him that Sherlock was not going to be alone. They were going to have a party at the flat and then John spent the next ten minutes listening to Sherlock whinge about it. When they ended the call that day John snuck a pair of the earplugs the boys wore when training with the larger rifles, and he sent them to Sherlock for Christmas. He made the call now and wondered if he had received them in time for the party.

"John," Sherlock said as soon as he answered. "It's cold. There's snow." He was holding his cup of tea up to his face to warm it.

John smiled. "It's warm here. Perhaps I'll try and send that next," he said.

"I got the earplugs," Sherlock said, smiling. "Thanks. I'm wearing them right now."

"Are not," John smiled wider.

"What did you say?" Sherlock joked. "Anyway, thanks. I wish I could have got you a present." 

"Don't worry about it," he said. "How was the party anyways?"

"I didn't go," Sherlock said. "I took all the liquor into my bedroom, shut the door and drank most of it by myself. I don't think anyone came actually. All I heard was Mrs Hudson shouting at me and then nothing. I intend to keep drinking myself stupid tonight and have my own party."

"I'm sure they came and she is going to beat me for sending those plugs. I wish I was there to drink myself stupid and party with you," he said.

"So do I," Sherlock said. "I sent your girlfriend away last month, she was getting annoying. So now I'm just on my own. It doesn't seem right -- not here in our flat."

"Hmm. Wasn't she warming the bed anymore?" John asked.

"In the end I made her sleep in the bath, which at first she seemed fine with," Sherlock said. "But when I printed out your picture and asked her to wear it as a mask, she took off."

John laughed loudly. "I don't blame the girl," he said. "I expect you to make me wear a mask any day now."

"I like your face," Sherlock said. "I like seeing it." He smiled a little and took a drink of tea. "That'd be the best present."

John smiled and felt his cheeks flush lightly. "Well, it's going to be just a bit belated," he said. He coughed a bit and fiddled with something on the table. "That's two presents for you and none for me," he pointed out to try and ease the awkwardness. Why did he feel awkward?

"What do you want?" Sherlock said. "The flat's clean, isn't that enough? Or do you want something else?" He got up and grabbed a bottle of wine and brought it back to the table, pouring himself a glass. He raised it towards the webcam and then took a sip.

"That's just mean," John pouted. "You aren't even going to wait until we hang up?"

"I thought it was sweet," Sherlock said. "It's kind of like we're celebrating together."

John got up and grabbed a bottle of water. "Okay. I guess that makes sense," he smiled, lifting the bottle in a silent toast before taking a sip. 

"If you could spend tonight wherever you wanted -- money was no object -- how would you spend it?" Sherlock asked.

"I'd come home," John said without thinking. He felt his cheeks burning again. "I mean . . . well, yeah," he nodded. "I would come home."

"Do you hate it there so much?" Sherlock asked.

"No," John admitted. "But I miss home. I miss you." 

"Why?" Sherlock ask, drinking a bit more of his wine.

"What do you mean why?" John asked. "You know why."

"I don't know anything anymore, John," Sherlock said, mumbling a little. He was feeling a bit foggy in the head.

"You're my friend. We have fun. I miss going on cases and I miss nagging you about eating and sleeping and I miss . . . just seeing you. I don't want to see you through a little screen." John looked down at his bottle of water and swirled it around. He was often thinking about Sherlock more and more throughout his days and lately he'd been feeling . . . well, he didn't know what exactly, but it was a sort of longing. The Skyping wasn't enough anymore. He had chalked it up to the fact that the end was getting closer, but looking at Sherlock now only made it worse. Not even a little bit better.  

"It's all good, isn't it, John?" Sherlock said. "It always has been and it always will be."

"What?' John asked. "Me and you? Yeah. It's really good," he agreed. 

"You're my best friend," Sherlock said. "I like when you're here. I'm weirdly tired and need to go to bed soon. I wish you were here."

"In the flat or in your bed?" John asked quietly. He glanced up but quickly looked at his bottle again. Why did he ask that? Why wasn't he taking it back? He waited nervously for an answer. 

"I just want to be closer to you," Sherlock said.

Well, that didn't clear things up. John looked up and took a big gulp of water. "I'll be home soon."

"I wish we could just go to bed now," Sherlock mumbled. He was watching John on the screen.

John held his gaze. "Take the computer to your bed," he suggested softly. 

Sherlock didn't say anything but stood, leaving the wine glass and lifting the laptop to carry into his room. He lay down on his bed and set the computer on the pillow next to him. "I'm worried I'm going to fall asleep," he mumbled.

"Well, that'd be okay. I won't take it personally," John smiled. He stood with his laptop and went to his own little bunk. It was easier looking at Sherlock this way when they were both in the same position. 

"It's so different when you're not here," Sherlock said. "I don't like it." His voice was very drowsy now.

John swallowed hard and shifted more on his side. He rested his hand on the keyboard and realised that he was pretending it was Sherlock. He didn't stop. "I don't like it either," he murmured, looking over at Sherlock. 

"Come back, John," Sherlock mumbled. He closed his eyes. "Say something so I can hear your voice."

"I've started dreaming about you," John said quietly. "Just silly things like solving cases about missing biscuits or lost socks."

"Everything's good when you're here," Sherlock said. "Your friendship . . . it makes me normal . . ."

"You're not normal," John said. "You're extraordinary." He watched Sherlock's face, looking over every inch. He really was handsome. John didn't know why he had never admitted that before. "You didn't drink yourself stupid. You could never be stupid."

"I'm going to fall asleep now, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I want you to be here when I wake up."

"I wish I could be," John said. "But it won't be long. Not too much longer now." He knew that's what he was always saying and now he was annoyed with it even himself. John touched the screen now that Sherlock's eyes were closed and he couldn't see. "Merry Christmas," he said quietly.

"Christmas," Sherlock said softly and then fell asleep.

John watched him sleep for a while, until he heard too much commotion outside. He closed up his computer. "Good night, Sherlock," he said as he did.

Sherlock woke up the next morning with his laptop next to him, for a moment unsure what had happened. Then he remembered and wondered why he'd gone so sentimental. He missed John so much, but it was embarrassing how silly he'd been.

He rolled over and lay there, staring at the ceiling for a while. Before John left, Sherlock knew how much he liked him -- he didn't focus on it but he knew the feeling of friendship for John was real and true. They just fit together -- so different in so many ways, but together they were a perfect partnership and made this flat a home, their home, which gave Sherlock a security he never knew he craved. But now that John was gone, Sherlock wondered if there was something else there, something Sherlock didn't quite understand. At least not yet. When he said he wanted John to be closer, he didn't just mean he wanted him in England or back in this flat. He wasn't quite sure exactly what he meant, but he knew he'd meant it.


	4. March

Of course it would have happened so close to John going home. He only had a couple weeks left, and it had been such an avoidable accident. The two boys were play fighting, joking around and wrestling but one of them didn't have the safety on his rifle and it went off, killing the other boy. John was having nightmares about it, and he was desperate to talk to Sherlock, even though it wasn't their scheduled talk time. He watched the little phone moving as he waited for Sherlock to answer. He hoped he was home.

Sherlock had been napping. He'd been spending a lot of time doing that recently -- it seems like Lestrade hadn't had as much work for him and there'd been little activity via their website since Sherlock's quick, factual summaries clearly didn't have the same draw as John's more dramatic ones did. He thought he recognised a sound in the other room so he dragged himself out of bed, pulling a sheet around him. By the time he got to the kitchen, his brain was awake enough to know what was happened and he quickly answered.

"John, what's wrong?" he said as soon as John's face appeared.

The three words made John sigh softly. "There was an accident with two of the boys," he said. He was leaning close to the screen. 

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "I'm just having a hard time sleeping."

"Was someone hurt?" Sherlock said. His head was clearer now and he wanted a cup of tea, but not until he knew John was okay.

John nodded. "One of the boys died," he said quietly. "The other was sent home." John rubbed his face hard and sighed again.

"John, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. He wanted to reach out and touch him, which wouldn't help and which was impossible anyway. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say something else."  
  
"I know," John said, looking at him again. "Thank you. I just wanted to talk to you. I wish I was there," he admitted.

"It won't be long now," Sherlock asked. Of course, he wanted to try to convince John to come home now -- surely something like this was unusual enough that maybe the Army would make some exception. But he worried he was being too selfish -- this was about looking after John, not Sherlock taking advantage of a bad situation to get his own way. "You'll make it, John, and then you'll be home again."  
  
"Thanks Sherlock." John offered him a small smile and then properly looked at him. "Are you . . . is that a sheet?"

"Um, yes, I was in bed," Sherlock said. "Do you care? If you do, I'll . . . encourage you to get over it because I'm staying like this." He smiled as well.

"What's . . . I mean, is there anything under that?" John asked, tilting the screen to look better.

"Of course," Sherlock said. "My body's under it." He smiled cheekily and pulled the sheet down to expose his chest. "Are you just trying to mock me since I'm pale and feeble and you're all tan and strong now?" He pulled the sheet back up and around his shoulders.

John watched the sheet and found himself wishing he hadn't pulled it back up again. "Right. Well, at least I'm dressed and not rubbing it in your face!"

"Pervert!" Sherlock said. "What are you thinking of rubbing in my face? Something's happened to you since you've been gone. You're sex mad, I think." 

"I meant the fact that I'm sexy now!" John laughed.

"Is that what people are telling you? Have you got a bunch of teacher's pets now?" Sherlock laughed. "I never thought you would abuse your power like that."

John smiled. "I don't need them to tell me. Besides, you look good too, even though you're not tan," he teased.

"Shut up," Sherlock said. "Hold on a minute, I need tea." He stood up and clicked on the kettle, popping a bag into the mug. "Should I make one for you?" he called loudly.

"Yes, just pour it onto your computer," John said laughing softly.

Sherlock came back with his mug. "That would be irresponsible, John," he said. "You're supposed to be the responsible one in this partnership. Since you've left you've become a manly, horny, irresponsible brute. I don't know how I'm going to adjust once you return."

"I guess you'll just have to tame me," John said with a shrug. He smiled and tilted his head. "When did I say in was horny?"

"I assumed your insistence that I strip off for you was based on desire," Sherlock said. "If I was wrong, I apologise." He let the sheet fall from his shoulder again in a ridiculous attempt at being seductive.

"Well, that did it," John said, fanning himself dramatically. He didn't know what this game was that they were playing, but he didn't want to stop just yet. 

"I learned a lot of tricks from that girlfriend of yours," Sherlock said. "This flat reeks of sex appeal now."

"That's big talk," John said. "Can you prove it is the real question."

"If I turn the laptop around, you'll see the twenty people I've satisfied sexually in the last two days. They're all passed out on the sofa right now," Sherlock said smiling. "I'm telling you -- things have changed here."  
  
John rolled his eyes. "Only twenty? I am not impressed," he teased. 

"Well, I'm just a beginner," Sherlock said. "Don't worry -- I'll probably have it all out of my system by the time you return. Then you can go back to being the only one in the flat with any sex appeal."

"Well, don't rush," John said, and then he wondered why. He met Sherlock's gaze and waited to see what he thought about that. 

"What are we doing, John?" Sherlock asked, trying to read John's face.

John licked his lips but he shrugged lightly. "I don't know," he said. He thought they were playing a game, an ongoing game since John had left, but now it seemed more serious than he counted on. 

"Do you want to stop?" Sherlock asked. "Before you answer, though, let me. I don't want to stop -- I've thought about it. I'm closer to you than I've ever been to another person. I don't know what any of this is but . . . I kind of like it." He took a drink of his tea and tried not to look directly at John.

"I don't want to stop either," John said, immensely relieved that not only had Sherlock answered first but that his answer matched John's. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "I don't know why I like it . . . I guess because I just hate that you're not here. I didn't know how much I liked your being here before. I mean -- I just didn't realise. But I now I see it and I just want you to come home to me."

"It's strange how the distance brought us closer," John agreed. "I miss you so much all the time. And with the nightmares . . . I just couldn't imagine talking to anyone else," he said. "I miss you," he repeated. "I miss things that . . . that could be, if that makes any sense."

"I don't know what that means," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry."

"Just . . . things we could have," John explained.

"We already have everything," Sherlock said. "You're everything I need." He thought about that for a moment -- was it an odd thing to say? It felt true though so he didn't take it back.

"I . . .you're everything too," John said softly. He looked at his hands and fiddled with his fingers.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Perfect. And soon you'll be home and everything will be normal again."  
  
_Normal again._ The words hit John a bit harder than they should have but it forced him back into reality. He was lucky Sherlock was his friend, let alone anything else. Sherlock didn't do that sort of thing and John had to remember that before he embarrassed himself, or worse, got his heart broken. "Right. Back to normal," John agreed. He looked around the room and then back to Sherlock and his stupid sheet. "So. What else is new there?" 

"Just solving cases," Sherlock lied. "I'm a detective, you know, or have you forgotten?"

"Anything interesting?" John asked, ignoring the jibe. 

"Not really," Sherlock said. "I'm hoping your return will coincide with an incredibly complicated murder so we'll have something to do together." 

"Is that how you walk around with Mrs Hudson?" John asked.

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "I'm a very private person, as you know."

"Privates out more like it," John grinned.

"Is that some kind of Army joke?" Sherlock asked.

"No. Never mind," John smiled. "Have you been checking my blog at all?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "Some comments . . . I've tried to be polite, I promise." He looked closely at John. "Are you angry with me or something?" John seemed different -- he seemed less cheerful than he had a few moments ago. Wait -- was he not coming home after all? "You're still coming home soon, right?"

"Yeah, I'm still coming home," John said. "I'm not angry with you. It's just that thing that happened," he reminded Sherlock.

"I know," Sherlock said. "I wish you could just come back now and sleep here and maybe the nightmares won't come back." He finished his tea. "Do you have your flight info yet?"

"May 19th," John said. "I should be arriving around five in the evening."

"That makes me happy, John," Sherlock said. "And gives me time to disinfect the flat." He smiled.

"Right, from all of the wild sex with my girlfriend," he smiled. 

"Don't be disgusting," Sherlock said. "I told you the Army has made you brutish."

"You're the one that said you were doing it," John pointed out.

"I was just trying to make you jealous," Sherlock said and then thought about it -- is that why he'd said it? Yes, actually it was. Odd.

John raised his brows. "Well, I was promised some bed time as well if I remember correctly." His brain was yelling at him to shut up but it was out now.

"Your memory is good when you want it to be," Sherlock said. "Which reminds me, I probably need to get those body parts cleaned out of your room." He smiled.

"Always with the jokes," John smiled. "I'll just steal your bed."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "You get to be in charge of the flat when you return. For one day. That's it. Don't say I've never been generous."

John laughed and shook his head. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

"You used to complain about my selfishness all the time," Sherlock said. "Am I going to have to re-train you in how to be the old John Watson?"

"The old John Watson never said you were mean and I promise the new one won't either. They are both offended," he smiled.

"It wasn't mean, it was selfish. I've always been selfish and you know it," Sherlock said. "And offending people is what I do best so I'm just trying to give you a taste of home." He pulled a silly face and stuck his tongue out at the screen. 

John laughed. "I disagree."

"Just shut up and come home, all right?" Sherlock said, smiling.

"Yeah, I will," John said. "I promise."

"Good," Sherlock said, stretching a little. "Are you going to let me get to work or what?" he said. "I've only got a few weeks left to get this place cleaned up."

John said, "I should go too."

"Be careful," Sherlock said. "Come home in one piece, please. And call me, you know, if you need me."

"Thank you," John said. "I'll see you soon." he raised his hand in a wave.

Sherlock logged off and refreshed his tea. He thought about the way his feelings about John had changed. Well, not changed as much as just become stronger. He looked around the flat and decided he did need to clean it up a bit. He had three weeks to do that. But before he did, he had something else to sort.


	5. May

John's face split into a grin when the wheels of the plane touched the ground. It was finally over. He was home again. Well, he would be as soon as he saw Sherlock. He hoped Sherlock was at the airport. He filed out with everyone, shouldered his carry on, and passed the baggage claim for the doors to the main part of the airport.

Sherlock was waiting at the taxi stand, scanning the people coming through the doors. Some had clearly been on holidays, others were here on business -- all of them were idiots because none of them was John. And then he saw him. "John!" he called, waving his hand.

John grinned wider, almost running over to Sherlock. When he was close enough he pulled Sherlock into a tight hug, burying his face into his neck

Sherlock squeezed his arms around John. "I'm glad you're home," he said quietly. Then he stepped back, grabbed John's bag and opened the taxi door for him.

"I'm glad to be home. It's so good to be home!" John said, touching Sherlock's arm.

As soon as they were on the road, Sherlock said, "Was your flight okay? Are you all right? Is everything okay?"

"I'm okay. Everything was okay," John assured him, smiling wide.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I've missed you. I cleaned the flat." He wasn't quite sure why all these words were coming out of his mouth so awkwardly. He wasn't used to just normally speaking to someone.

"I missed you too. I can't wait to see it," John said, touching his arm again.

Sherlock glanced down at John's touch. "Mrs Hudson wants to see you so I told her she could come up for tea but that's all and then she has to go straight home."

John laughed. "We have to let her stay long enough to enjoy the clean flat."

"She's been enjoying it for the last two days as she's been cleaning it," Sherlock said, smiling.

"What? I thought you were cleaning it," John said, raising his brows.

"I supervised," Sherlock said. He turned to look over at John. "Well, was it a good experience? Are you glad you went?"

"Now that I'm home I suppose I am glad I went," John admitted.

"I'm just glad you're home," Sherlock said.

When they pulled up, Sherlock grabbed John's bag and then unlocked the door to the flat, letting John head up first. Mrs Hudson was standing at the top of the stairs. "John," she called, holding her arms open. "I'm so glad you're home!"

John hugged her tightly. "I'm glad to be back," he said.   
  
"Come in," she said, moving into the flat. "I've got tea ready and Sherlock's been cleaning all week."  
  
Sherlock came in and dropped John's bag by the door. "Don't lie to him," he said, smiling at Mrs Hudson and moving to sit down on his chair.

"Ignore him. His only gift to me was just revealed as a sham," John teased.

Sherlock smiled. "I got you a proper homecoming present," he said. "It's just not arrived yet." He took a mug from the tray Mrs Hudson had brought in. "I didn't want to overwhelm you with kindness on your first day back."

"Oh," John smiled. "I will try to be patient."

Sherlock sat and watched John talking to Mrs Hudson. Once their tea was finished, Sherlock stood up. "All right, Mrs Hudson," he said. "It's time to go. John's had a long trip and he needs to rest." He hurried her off to the door. She made a little fuss and then left, giving Sherlock a knowing look.

Sherlock turned round and said, "Whatever you want to do -- you're in charge. A bath? Do you need food? Stupid television all night? Whatever you want."

"A bath actually sounds good," John admitted. "I'll be quick."

"No, John," Sherlock said. "Don't hurry -- there's no need to rush. Everything you might need is here, there's nowhere we need to go. Take your time." He smiled.

"I just missed you so I wanted us to hang out," John said.

"We'll have plenty of time for that, I promise," Sherlock said. "But tonight . . . just be glad to be home."

"Okay. I'm going to go take a bath, then." He touched Sherlock's arm again before taking his bag up to his room. He lay on his bed and rolled around for a bit before finding his pajamas. When he filled the bath, he sank in and sighed happily.

Sherlock quickly checked his email while John was in the bath. Then he opened the paper to the television schedule and put the kettle on again. He sat down to wait for John to come back out. He just wanted the evening to be nice and calm for John.

John soaked until the water got cold and then he got out, got dressed, and came into the sitting room. "Oh, tea," he smiled, pouring himself a mug.

Sherlock smiled and got up to pour himself a cup. He brought the paper back and handed it to John. "Tonight's telly," he explained. "Or not. We can do whatever you want. You can talk about being away or not. We can order food or not. Whatever. Honestly. I'm just glad you're home. I just want you to relax -- there's nothing you _have_ to do tonight."

"Let's be normal tonight, like you said," John said. He turned on the telly and flipped through until he found a tolerable movie. "We could order in as well. I missed Chinese," he smiled. 

"Good, that sounds good," Sherlock said. He pulled out his phone and placed their usual order. "We've got water, tea, and wine to drink. Just let me know what you need. For tonight, I'll get you whatever you want." He smiled and moved over to the sofa near John.

John smiled and settled back to wait for the food. "I think I will drink wine. It's been a year," he smiled. 

Sherlock got up and opened a bottle of wine. He grabbed two glasses and brought them back to the sofa, pouring a little into each glass. He handed one to John and then picked up the other. "To being home," he said, lifting his glass and then clinking it with John's.

John smiled and took a long sip, humming happily. "This is very good. You always pick the best wines."

"It is nice," Sherlock said. He glanced over at John and felt . . . just happy that he was here. He almost wanted to reach over and grab him just to prove it was all real. But he didn't. Instead he said, "Let me know if you need anything, yeah?" 

John nodded. When the food came Sherlock got up to get it and John topped off their glasses. It was the very best meal he could remember having. When the food was done, they kept drinking until the bottle was empty. John felt happy and drowsy and just . . . it was so very good to be home again. To be with Sherlock again. Now that he was a bit fuzzy he was actively reminding himself to keep his other feelings at bay. 

Sherlock was enjoying everything about the night. He felt like he couldn't stop smiling -- he smiled more tonight than he had in the whole year John had been gone. After he'd cleared away the food, he slumped back onto the sofa, a little closer to John and put his feet up on the table. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep tonight?" he asked.

"I hope so. I don't feel any unusual amount of anxiety," he said. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "I want you to get a good rest tonight. If you wake up or anything . . . you'll come get me, right?"

John looked over at him and nodded. "I will. Thank you," he said. He doubted he would actually wake Sherlock up but he said it anyways. 

"Stop lying," Sherlock said, smiling lazily. "I'm here now, you're here. If you need me, come get me. Promise?"

"I said I would!" John promised.   
  
"I know you did but you were thinking you might not," Sherlock said, turning his head slowly to stare over at John. "There's no screen between us now," he added. "You've forgotten how I can see things . . . hear things you think but don't say."

John stared at him for a long moment. "I did forget," he admitted. "You are right, of course."

Sherlock reached over and held John's hand. "Of course, I'm right," he said, letting his fingers brush John's wrist. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about touching John, about John being home again. Then he opened his eyes and looked over at John. "Why don't you go up to bed now? The sheets are clean and I've had the windows open earlier to just freshen it up a bit. I wanted it to be nice -- I want this to be the best sleep of your life."

John held his breath as he watched Sherlock's hand. His heart was racing, and he wondered if Sherlock felt it. Of course he felt it but he didn't mention it. "Okay. Yeah, I think I will go to bed," John said. He tugged his hand away and cleared his throat softly. "Um. Thank you for everything. I'll see you in the morning." John stood and stretched, taking his glass and the empty bottle to the sink. "Good night," he said before heading up to his room and getting ready for bed. 

Sherlock stayed on the sofa and watched John go up to bed. He moved to the kitchen and finished tidying up. He went into his room and pulled two suitcases from the cupboard, moving them near the door. He set his alarm and then climbed into bed. He turned out the lamp and picked up his phone again.

_I'm glad you're home. SH_

_I'm glad I'm home too. -JW_

John curled up and closed his eyes, breathing in the comfortable, familiar smells of being home. He dozed off, and his mind was quiet and calm. 


	6. Holiday

When Sherlock's alarm went off, he felt he'd barely slept -- he had been so excited thinking about the morning. He quickly turned off the alarm and sat up. He stretched a little and took a deep breath. Then he stood up. He got his room ready. Then he carried the two suitcases quietly up to John's room, pausing outside the door to listen for any sounds inside. He quietly turned the knob and pushed open the door. John was sleeping on his bed. It was the most beautiful sight Sherlock had seen all year.

He set the suitcases inside John's door and then went back downstairs, moving through the dark to get his laptop. He carried it back upstairs and walked into John's room, setting it on the table on the opposite side of John's bed. As slowly as he could, Sherlock slipped under the covers of John's bed and then hit play on his laptop. The soft sounds of a train ride began to fill the silence of the dark room. Sherlock lay as silently as he could. And waited.

John heard . . . a train? He shifted and took a deep breath but through his sleep the sound kept bleeding through. He yawned and stretched, turning and bumping into a leg. He jumped up suddenly, thinking Sherlock had left something in his bed. But no. He groped for the light and looked around properly. "Sherlock?" he grumbled from sleep. What was happening? 

Sherlock's stomach jumped. "Shhh," he whispered. "Turn off the light and go back to sleep. I'll wake you when we get there."

"Get where?" John asked confused. Weren't they in his room still? 

"Turn off the light and lie down and I'll tell you," Sherlock whispered.

Still confused, John turned off the light and he lay down again. Sherlock was in his bed and there was sounds of a train. This was stranger than the time he found a head in the fridge. But he turned on his side to face Sherlock and he waited. 

Sherlock reached over and held John's hand. "Before you left, you said I should plan a holiday for us when you got back," he said softly. "But while you were away, you said if you could be anywhere in the world, you'd just be home." His fingers stroked the back of John's hand lightly. "And do you remember the other things we talked about when you were away?"

John felt his heart start racing again, his breath hitching in his throat. He couldn't speak for a moment so he only nodded. He remembered everything, of course he did. 

"Well, I couldn't figure out how to make those differences happen if we were also trying to make things the same as before. So I needed a plan that would accommodate contradictions: home and away, the same and different. So that's what I'm doing." He swallowed, hoping this all hadn't been a huge mistake. "When the train stops, we'll be on holiday and we can . . . try new things. Life won't be normal yet because it never is on holiday -- no work, no responsibilities -- a weekend break. Except here. At home. Our home." He squeezed John's hand. "And when the holiday's over, we'll be normal again. Whatever that means now." He looked up at John's face. "What do you think?"

John's own fingers moving to stroke Sherlock's hand now, to do some of the touching. If they were going to try new things -- things John had been thinking about a lot lately -- he didn't want to give them up after the holiday was over. "And those new things might stay . . . even after the holiday ends?"

"Right," Sherlock said. "We'll be whatever we want to be." He snuggled in a little closer to John. "It's too early to wake up properly. Let's stay here until the train stops. When it does, the holiday begins." He closed his eyes and inhaled John's smell. He didn't think he'd actually be able to go back to sleep, but it was so nice and safe here with John in the dark. He knew if he did fall asleep, the sounds from his computer would wake him when it was time.

John pressed Sherlock's fingers against his lips for just a moment before closing his eyes as well and breathing him in. 

Sherlock lay there for a while. He didn't think John had fallen asleep but then again, he thought he might have drifted off for a bit himself. And then he heard the noises of a train station. He opened his eyes. "John," he said softly. "We're here."

John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock. He leaned in and kissed his mouth softly, quickly. He hoped it was the same holiday Sherlock had in mind.

"John, you kissed me," Sherlock said. He smiled and stroked John's face. "It's time to go." He sat up, reaching over and closing his laptop. He got up. "Come on," he said. "I'll get the bags." He moved to John's door and picked up their suitcases.

"Go?" John asked, now confused again. "I thought we were staying here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "On the train?"

"What?" John asked.

"We're going on holiday," Sherlock said. "But we can't go on holiday if you stay on the bloody train all weekend." He motioned his head towards the door. "Come on, let's get to the hotel."

John grinned. "Oh right. What was I thinking?" He got out of bed and put his pajamas on, following Sherlock out of his bedroom.

"This looks nice," Sherlock said when he opened the door. He walked through the sitting room and set their suitcases down by his own closed bedroom door. There was a knock at the flat's door. "That must be room service," he said and moved to open it. He bent down and turned around holding a tray with two plates of breakfast and tea. He smiled stupidly.

"How fancy," John smiled. "This is the best hotel I've ever been to."

"Not too fancy though," Sherlock said. He poured the tea and put a mug and plate in front of John. "Eat up," Sherlock said.

"What's the rush?" John asked. "Is there a plan?"

"There might be a loose agenda," Sherlock responded. "But mainly I don't want your eggs to get cold."

"Oh I see," John said. He went back to his breakfast, unable to help grinning at Sherlock periodically.

Sherlock ate a little bit of his food. "Do you think you'd like to go out today or do you want to stay in and rest after the train ride?"

"Hmm, what are my options for both?" John asked. 

"I was looking at a brochure on the train," Sherlock said. "There's a park nearby we could walk to or we could go out later for dinner. Or if you wanted to stay in, we could watch your favourite film or play a game or just read or any other thing that you might want to do."

"I like the idea of going out and then having a late dinner," John said.

"That sounds good," Sherlock said. "I hope the weather stays nice. Perhaps we could go to the seaside tomorrow?" He put his plate down on the tray. Then he remembered something. "Go ahead and finish, I'll be right back," he said, getting up and moving to the bathroom. He reached into the small cupboard and found the bag Mrs Hudson had left. He lay some folded towels on the edge of the bath and placed the small soaps from the bag on top. Then he quickly brushed his teeth and fiddled with hair before returning to the sitting room. When John finished his food, Sherlock carried the tray back to the door and set it outside. He returned with the newspaper and tossed it on the table. "Do you want to get ready to go out or do you want to rest first?" he asked.

"I slept very well on the train," John said. "Let me go get dressed and I'll be right down." He smiled and glanced at the suitcases. "Is there . . . I still have to find clothes in my room, right?" 

"You can wear whatever you want," Sherlock said, glancing at the suitcases. "Those are for . . . later." He stood up. "Are you going to shower?"

"I feel like I should, from all the traveling. Real and otherwise," he smiled. "Just give me a few minutes." He went to his room and found an outfit before going into the bathroom. John grinned when he saw the little soaps, making sure to use them as he showered quickly. When he was dressed he came back out. "I'm ready."

Sherlock got dressed while John was in the shower, quickly slipping in and out of his room to get it and himself ready before shutting the door behind him. When John came back out, he said, "You look refreshed. And a bit handsome."

John flushed lightly and smiled. "Thanks. You too," he said. "So, to the park first?" 

"Yes," Sherlock got up and put his coat on and then found John's underneath everything and helped him on with it. "It might be a bit chilly -- at least chillier than what you're used to." They walked downstairs and then out onto the pavement. Sherlock grabbed John's hand. They walked a few streets over and then down between some buildings until they came to the back gate of someone's high-walled garden. Sherlock opened it and let John walk through.

The back garden was quite secluded with a few small trees and a number of flower pots. There was even a small water feature. Sherlock led John over to a little bench. "Shall we sit here?" he asked, sitting down.

"This is different," John said, looking around and squeezing his hand. "It's really nice. Do you know the people who live here?"

"I know the people who live here are not home right now and that's all that matters," Sherlock said. He moved one arm around the back of John. He looked around the garden and then turned to look at John. He pulled his arm a bit to move John closer and then leaned in slowly to kiss his mouth.

John brought his hand up to Sherlock's cheek, kissing him back eagerly.

"That was nice," Sherlock said, pulling back a little. He looked round the garden. "I wanted to take you some place you'd never been. Since we're on holiday and all. . ."

"I like it, I like this," John smiled. He looked around again and then back at Sherlock. "I also like kissing you."

"I like that, too," Sherlock said, but he didn't lean in for another kiss. "When our holiday is over, do you think you'll go back to the surgery right away?" he asked. 

"I got some money from the army again so I wouldn't have to right away," John said. He couldn't stop looking at Sherlock. He felt so happy.

"You'll have a lot of writing to do -- the blog's lost its appeal without you," Sherlock said. "And maybe we'll get some proper cases again . . . I honestly think Lestrade's been ignoring me." While he was speaking, he moved his hand up John's arm to fuss with the hair on the nape of his neck. Then he gripped the back of John's head and leaned in to kiss him again, this time a little harder.

"He's not ignoring you," John said, shivering at the light touch behind his neck. He was getting ready to defend Lestrade, but then Sherlock was kissing him and he liked that a lot better. He returned the kiss eagerly, his hand lost in Sherlock's curls again. 

This time Sherlock kept the kiss going, slipping his other hand around John's head. He turned it slightly as he parted his lips, letting his tongue slip in to find John's. Then one hand dropped to John's upper back, pulling him closer. All of a sudden he wanted to be so close to John -- he wanted to press against him, have every part of his body touching John's.

John pulled away with a soft gasp, clutching Sherlock's shirt. "I want things we can't do here," he murmured, and then he was kissing Sherlock again because it was so very good. 

"What do you want?" Sherlock whispered. He moved his mouth to John's neck, kissing it softly. "No one can see us here . . ."

John tried to keep his breathing normal as he glanced around quickly. Then his hand slid up Sherlock's leg and between them, palming softly. "I want you."

"John, are you sure?" Sherlock said, moving even closer.

John nodded, palming harder and shifting to allow Sherlock to come even closer. "Oh yes," he moaned softly. 

Sherlock moved his leg slightly. "Should we go back?" He dropped a hand to John's thigh and squeezed it.

John nodded. "Yes," he said.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and led him through the gate and quickly back to Baker Street. The minute they were through the flat's door, Sherlock grabbed John and pushed him back against the wall, holding his face and kissing him again as he pressed his body against John's. Then he pulled back. "We need a bed," he said, pulling John towards Sherlock's bedroom.

"God," John called, mostly out of the pure need moving through his every cell. He couldn't believe this was really happening with Sherlock. Would it have if he had never left? He had no idea but he was not about to question it. Inside the room John finally paused for a moment to take in the scene -- a turned down bed and even a small mint on the pillow. He turned and pushed Sherlock against the wall, kissing him hard as he shut the door.

Sherlock put his hands on John's hips, pulling them towards him. He kissed his mouth hungrily. "Should we take off our clothes?" he moaned softly.

John nodded, already working at the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. "I want to see you . . . to touch you," he murmured.

Sherlock helped John take off both of their shirts. He moved them back to the bed, pushing John down against it. He leaned over and took off John's belt and opened his trousers, slowly pulling them down. He slid his hand inside John's pants, wrapping his fingers around his hard, warm cock. "God, John," he moaned softly.

John lost his drive for a moment as his brain processed the fact that Sherlock was holding his cock. When it returned he was rolling into his hand and tearing at Sherlock's trousers even faster. He only pushed them far enough to get his hand into Sherlock's pants to stroke him as well.

Sherlock used his other hand to push down his own trousers. "Please," he moaned even though he wasn't quite sure what he was begging for. He lay down on the bed next to John. He kissed him again as he started a steady stroke.

"How far do you want to go?" John asked breathlessly, moving to straddle Sherlock's hips. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock's chest.

"I want to do everything all the time forever," Sherlock said, grinning stupidly, his hands moving up and down John's back.

"What a ridiculous answer," John grinned. He bit at Sherlock's nipple, still stroking his cock. "Do you have supplies?"

"No," Sherlock said. "But you do. In your suitcase." His grin got even sillier.

"I see you packed the essentials," John smiled. He went to get them quickly, climbing back up.

Sherlock stroked himself when John got off the bed. When he returned, Sherlock pulled him over, pulling him against him. His arms wrapped around John's back. "I just want to be closer," he said, kissing John's neck. "Just . . . smash into me," he laughed a little.

John smiled and climbed on top of him again, rolling his hips to try to give him some closeness.

“I missed you so much," Sherlock said. "I even missed this even though we'd never done it before. I just . . . wanted you here."

John kissed his mouth again before pouring a bit of lube onto his hand and rubbing between Sherlock's legs, pushing them apart to slick his entrance. "I missed you so much." 

Sherlock let his head fall back onto the mattress as John touched him. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, relaxing his body. He held onto one of John's arms and made a small humming noise. Everything felt good.

John gently pushed his finger into Sherlock and then looked up at his face. He was so handsome. "I was hoping this was what you wanted as well. I was so afraid of coming back and having to pretend that I didn't want this." 

"I don't know why I didn't before -- I just didn't know," Sherlock exhaled. "But now I know." He squeezed John's arm and let his hips move a little.

John gently added a second finger. "I had to go so far to realise how much I love you," he murmured, looking down at his hand with a small moan.

"It's . . . how I feel," Sherlock moaned back. John's movement into his body feel good, right, like Sherlock had been waiting -- not a year, but forever -- for this closeness.

John spread his fingers, leaning down to suck Sherlock's cock into his mouth as he did, bobbing slowly up and down.

"God, John, please," Sherlock said. "I want you to . . ."

John pulled off before slowly pulling his hand away as well. He rolled on a condom, poured a bit more lube, and then lined up. He held Sherlock's hip as he guided himself in, moaning loudly. 

Sherlock's body curled a bit in response to John's push but then he adjusted and reached up to wrap his hands around John's neck, pulling him down into a rough kiss. Sherlock began to rock his hips in response, taking more of John inside him.

"God," John cried, following his lead and moving his hips steadily. He moaned into the kiss, panting softly.

"Does it feel good?" Sherlock said. "Do you like this? Can this be us now?" He panted out the questions in between kisses before dropping his head to the bed and moving his body even more.

John nodded, reaching down to stroke Sherlock with their movements. "Yes, this is us now," he breathed, kissing Sherlock's neck now with open, sloppy kisses.

Sherlock pressed his head back against the softness of the bed, which was moving with their movements. His hands move up and down John's body as his hips bucked. "God, John, I'm close already, I'm sorry," he moaned.

"Me too," John moaned in response. He moved his hand faster, as well as his hips. The tight heat was intoxicating, pulling him towards his climax as the tension in his own belly coiled.

Suddenly it was too much for Sherlock, and he felt his whole body tighten and he was coming and calling out John's name.

John paused to watch Sherlock but only for a second before he was moving quickly and coming inside of him. He moaned and called out, shuddering over him.

Sherlock watched John's face letting go -- Sherlock had never seen John when he wasn't in control of himself and it was so beautiful. He pulled John close and they lay there, panting against each other.

John buried into Sherlock's neck so every deep, panting breath smelled like him. He had never felt so good. It was, "Perfect," he finished the thought out loud in a small murmur. 

"It is," Sherlock said. "You are. Everything is."


End file.
